


A Noot On The Water: A Parody

by alicethepotato (poppypetals)



Category: Pingu, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alone on the Water, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Crack, Angst, Cancer, Death Fic, Feels, I'm Sorry, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mad_Lori, Noot, Noot Noot, Parody, Pingulock, Pingulock AU, Sherlock AU, crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:40:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2018427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppypetals/pseuds/alicethepotato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pingulock Holmes never expected to live a long life, but he never imagined that it would end like this.</p><p> Noot’s my body on the waves<br/>Noot’s a penguin inside my cave<br/>I live in a city noot built<br/>It’s in my fish, it’s in my snow</p><p>Don’t leave my half a noot alone<br/>on the water<br/>Cover me in noot and bone sympathy<br/>Cause I don’t want to get over you.</p><p>--The Nootional</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Noot On The Water: A Parody

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Alone On the Water](https://archiveofourown.org/works/210785) by [Mad_Lori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Lori/pseuds/Mad_Lori). 



> PINGULOCK STUPIDITY OKAY - SHERLOCK MIXED WITH PINGU (the children's show).  
> I REGRET NOTHING. 
> 
> This is a stupid, tasteless, idiotic direct parody of the legendary Alone On The Water by the acclaimed Mad_Lori.  
> I'm sorry.  
> Please don't kill me.
> 
> I would highly recommend reading Alone On The Water before you delving into this idiocy (prepare your feels like woah), in order for this to make a speck of sense to you.  
> Also Alone On The Water is a masterpiece and I would suggest reading it anyway.
> 
> This is not meant to be intelligent, witty, or even remotely funny, by the way, if you don't care to see it as such. Just make what you will of it, please. 
> 
> What else can I say...? Sorry. Good luck.

I sit and I hear the squawk. I am numb.

Inoperable. Noot. Deep. Noot. Intracranial pressure. Noot. Terribly sorry. Noot. Options. Noot. Arrangements. Noot. 

Pingulock sits next to me, legs crossed. He is calm. “NooT NoOt?” is all he asks.

The neurosurgeon is a classmate of mine from Pinga’s. He’s a good penguin. He is looking at me with sympathy, presuming what they all do. I don’t mind so much. “Noot. Noot.”

I have more questions but Pingulock is on his feet. “NoOt, noot. Jawn. Noot.” And he is out of the room. I start to follow.

“Jawn – NOot noOT,” says my old friend. “Noot noot…NOot.”

I squawk. I’m surprised to hear it come out of my mouth. “Noot noot Pingulock noot. Noot noot.”

We say nothing on the cab ride home. I am staring out the window. Look at that. Look at the world, still turning. I feel like I’ve fallen off. Pingulock’s flipper slaps his knee. He is out of the cab before it’s hardly stopped and into the igloo, running up the stairs. Then he’s into his fish. Looking, tossing, stacking. I have no idea what he’s doing.

I just stand there. “Pingulock.” He doesn’t respond. “Pingulock!”

“Noot noot noot, Jawn. NoOT nOot.”

“Noot noot?”

He snorts. “Noot, nooT nOot?”

“Noot.”

“noOt?” He tosses down a trout and turns to face me. “Noot noot NOOT?” The words strike me like the deep thump of heavy gunfire, at the base of my spine. “Noot, Jawn. Noot.”

“Noot, noot, NOOt noot. Pingulock…”

“NOOT NOOT.”

I’m incredulous. "Noot?”

He stops, finally, and faces me. “NoOt noot, Jawn. Noooot noot.”

I take a deep breath. Detach. Float it away like an ice floe. Tether it to you so you can draw it back later. “Nooooooot nooooooOoOt. Noot NOOOT. noot noot noot noot. Noot noot. nooT nooT. Noot nnoooott. NooooooOOoOoOt. Noot noot noot noot NoOt nOot noot nopt. Noot, noot noot noot. Noot NOOOT noot.”

He nods. “Noot noot, nooot.” I nod back. “Noot noot NooT, Jawn.” He meets my eyes. He looks calm, but I know him as no one else does, perhaps as no one ever has. And I can see right now that Pingulock is scared.

“Noot noot.” Worse than the thought of losing him is the idea of watching his mind deteriorate, vaguely aware that it once was special and amazing but unable to remember how or why. Seeing his boundless energy trapped in a body that will no longer obey his commands, laid low in misery by the foreign growth deep inside his beak. 

I know what he wants. Pingu help me, it’s a relief. “Noot.”

His face softens minutely. “noot noOt.” Then his granite composure is back. “Noot noot.”

I’m momentarily puzzled. “Noot,”

“Noot noot. Noot. NoOt?”

"Noot. Noot. Noot noot. Noot. ”

“Noot. Noot noot noot. Noot noot NooT nooOt, noOt?”

I understand. I understand that I can’t obey this request and he knows that I can’t, but that everyone will preserve the gentle fiction that no one knows. “Noot.”

“Noot noot. Noot noot, noot, noot noot noot.”

My throat tightens. “Noot?”

“Noot. NOOT NOOT noot noooot noot. NooT NooT.”

Relief swamps me. “Noot. Noot noot noot.”

He hears something in my voice and takes a step closer. “Jawn. Noot noot ‘NOOT’, noot nooT…” He clears his throat. “Noot. NoOt noot nOoT.”

Acceptable. My best friend has just informed me that he’d like to spend his last day in Pinguland alone with me. There is no part of that which is acceptable.

My mind has not yet touched the reality that he is leaving. I can barely remember life without him in it. He’s slyly inserted himself into all my memories, as if he’d been there all along. He’s there in Antarctica, sitting in the next igloo, commenting on the other penguins, bothering me when I’m trying to stitch someone up. He’s at Pinga’s, interrupting my study time to drag me over to the morgue, stealing my textbooks and marking them up in red pen when he finds errors. He’s at school with me, at home, in the park I played in as a chick.

I stand in our living room and watch him go back to his fish. At some point over the past two years he and I have become a hybrid. Pingulock-and-Jawn. The graft has been so complete that even when we’re separated, for days or weeks as has occasionally occurred, I still feel the invisible seam that joins me to him. For a moment, I’m angry. Because he won’t be the one who’ll have to cut away half of himself and go back to being a singular entity. Jawn-and-[redacted]. The seam will remain, though. I will bear the scar down my center to remind me of what I’ve lost.

We introduce each other as pengwins. What we really mean is that we’re PeNgWinS. People sometimes assume that we’re PENGWINS. None are accurate descriptions. I’m not sure the Penguin language has a word for what we are. My sister, Nootiet, once called us “Noot…NOOT NOOT.” Pingulock liked that. It made him squawk. I don’t know if that covers it, either. We’re just – well, we’re just us.

All I know is that there is a deep pit in my chest and it’s yawning wide and hollow and in a minute it’s going to swallow me and I can’t let him see that. "Noot noot,” I say. My guilt at leaving him alone given the news he’s just been given is mitigated by the knowledge that he’d rather be alone than have to deal with me expressing any emotion.

He just gives me a terse nod. “Noot.”

I turn and clatter down the stairs. My stomach is cramping. I have to hold onto the wall for a moment. I make it outside and hail a cab.

I keep it together until I get to Sayra’s. Yet another relationship in my life that defies categorization. PENGWIN? No. PenGwIN? Yes, but more. PenGWIN? On occasion. These terms might apply, except she’s been more privy to what I go through with Pingulock than anyone. She knows about the seam. It’s made us unable to have what we started out hoping for, but yet unable to retreat into a safe zone of pEnGwiNship. So we hover here in the land of undefined. She dates other penguins. I just have Pingulock.

She sees my face and pulls me inside. “Noot, noot?”

I’m shaking. “Pingulock.”

“NoOt?”

“Noot NOOT.”

She holds me while I have an honest-to-Pingu sobbing breakdown of the sort that I probably ought to be embarrassed about, but somehow living with Pingulock’s perpetual detachment has left me remarkably unselfconscious about whatever it is that I feel myself. I’ve become an avatar for his humanity. I must express all the emotion that he suppresses, so I end up doing double duty.

I tell her about the kelp I need, and about Pingulock’s plan. I half-expect her to object, but she just nods and offers her assistance.

“Noot nOot noOt – nooT?” she asks, quietly.

I am holding a cold washcloth over my swollen beak. I can’t go home looking like this. “Noot NooT noOt. NOOT noot, Sayrah. Noot NOOt noOt, nOot neet's noot.” I hear my voice cracking.

Sarah smooths the feathers back from my temple. “Noot noot, Jawn.”

“Noot NoOt. No Ot?”

“Noo Oot?”

“Noo – noot noot. Noot noot, noot NOOT.” I scrub at my face with the damp cloth and let my head fall back to the couch. “Noot. Noot noot. NoOT. NOOT noot NoOt.”

She shakes her head. “Noot. Noot noot,” I just look at her. “Noooot.”

“Noot?”

“Noot noot noot noOt.”

My beak trembles again. The end. The end of him. Pingu, it can’t be true. “Noot noot, noot noot.”

Sayrah hugs me again and I cry some more. I feel silly but it’s best to get it out now. I can’t do this in front of Pingulock.

And she’s right. As soon as I’m back home, I won’t be leaving his side again.

He works. I don’t go to the surgery. We take case after case. He doesn’t sleep, so neither do I. I catch quick naps when he’s taking a bath, or when he’s busy with something I can’t help him with.

I take Nootstrade aside and quietly explain the situation. He looks stricken, but he pulls it together quickly. I promise to let him know when the decision is made. I do the same for Nootelo. I know that he’ll spread the word.

Pingulock is adamant that we not tell Mrs. Nootson. For once, I agree. If we do, we’ll never keep her out from underfoot. We’ll wait until it can’t be put off any longer.

Sayrah brings me the kelp. Two pieces, green and slimy. I keep them on me at all times. He will not eat them without my assistance, and it’d be like him to grow frustrated and just say to neet with it, swallow them down in a fit of pique, and the notion of coming back from the post office and finding him – well. I keep the kelp on my person.

For a few days he seems no worse. Then, that tightness in his face that signals a headache stops going away with the painkillers I give him. He stumbles now and then. I stand closer to him when we’re out at crime scenes.

One week after his diagnosis, I find him throwing up in the bathroom. He is pale and sweaty. I give him some compazine and it seems to help.

That day he has his first significant aphasia episode. He stands there ready to lay it out, and suddenly the words won’t come. I see his beak working, his eyes, his mind ready to show us how the clues fit together, and squawks won’t come to him. He looks up at me with panic behind his eyes, just barely visible behind the veil that always cloaks Pingulock’s emotional state, the veil that normally only I see behind, and then only rarely. “Jawn,” he stammers.

“NOot?” I say, pointing to something, anything not related to what he was about to say.

He looks away. “Noot noot.” And he takes a deep breath, comes back and is able to lay out his deduction for us. Seargent Nootovan is frowning. Nootstrade sighs and we exchange a quick glance.

It’s starting.

I’m coming home from the shops and I meet Nootcroft coming down. He looks pale and worn. “Noot, Jawn,” he says, mildly. “Noot noOt.”

“Noot NOot nOOt noot, nooT,” I say, irritable. If Nootcroft thinks I’m that stupid then he hasn’t been paying attention.

“Pingulock noot nOOT nooot nOot.”

I nod. “Noot noot.” I don’t have time for him right now.

Pingulock is sitting in the leather chair, his legs folded under him. He motions me into the other chair. "Noot noot, Jawn. NoOt. NOOOOOT, noooot.”

I sit down. “nooOt?”

He holds out some paperwork. I recognize it. It’s a durable power of attorney agreement. “Noot NOot, NOOt,” he said. “NooT Noot nooT NOOt, noot noOot noot.”

I would have thought that I’d have some feeling about this, but I don’t. It’s as he says. Just business. The business of dying. I sign the papers. “Noot.”

He’s frowning. "Noot NooT – noot.”

“Noot nooT. NOOOOOT.”

“NoOoOoOoOoT.” He clears his throat. “NooooOt nooot Nootcroft, NOOT nOOt noot NooT.”

I sigh. “NooOot, Pingulock.”

“Noot noOt,” he says, an edge coming into his voice. “Noo-ooot? NOOOOOOT nooOot noot, NooT, noOt nooot, NoOt.”

I just look at him. He looks back. I am deafened by the noise of all that we’re not saying.

Two days later Pingulock stumbles twice and nearly falls. The second time I guide him to a nearby ice floe and sit him down. He has been very quiet this day.

“Noot noooot, Jawn,” he whispers. I can hear a tremor in his voice. "NoooOt.”

I just nod. “NOOT.”

“Noo-OOT. Noot nooot.” He looks at me, pleading.

“Noot noot,” I whisper.

He reaches out and grabs my flipper. I grip it tightly. I profoundly do not care if anyone gets the wrong idea.

We finish the case. Pingulock hangs on to me as we climb the stairs to our igloo. His balance has gotten alarmingly worse just in the last day.

I sit him down and take his blood pressure. It’s high. His pulse is racing. He has a temperature. His pupil response is uneven. He can read the results on my face. I start to get up and he holds me back. “Jawn,” he says, and I know what’s coming.

“Nooot,” I murmur.

“NOot.”

I meet his eyes. “Noooot, Pingulock.”

“NOOOT, noOot?”

“Noot.”

He sighs. “NoOt, noot.”

This is the plan. Two days’ notice. The first day will be for the penguins in his life to just happen to drop by to ask him a question or give him something. The second day is for us.

The kelp feels very heavy in my pocket.

The next morning, Pingulock’s headache is so bad he can barely withstand light. I’ve laid in some stronger analgesics for this, and they help. He insists on wearing his normal clothes. He pretends that he isn’t planning on seeing anyone today, but he knows what’s coming.

Our first order of business is the one we dread the most. It’s time to tell Mrs. Nootson. We go downstairs to her flat and sit her down.

She weeps and clings to him. Pingulock hugs her back and assures her that he isn’t in pain, that it’ll all be very peaceful. She hugs me, too. She wants to come upstairs with us and look after us but Pingulock is insistent. We promise to call on her again tomorrow. She deserves an exception to Pingulock’s “alone” stipulation.

Molly is our first visitor. She’s making an extra-special effort to be cheerful and pretend that she’s totally ignorant of everything she’s not supposed to know. “Nooot NOOt noOt noot NOOOot,” she says, handing him a stack of photographs.

“Noot,” he says.

“NooT nooooOt NOOT noot nOot, Noot noot.”

“Noot. NooT nOOt noot.”

Molly is biting her lip. “Noot – NOOT noot noOot noot nOoot Noot, nooT.”

“Noot. NOOt noot?”

“Noot noot.” She knows what she’s saying.

Pingulock smiles. “NooOoOt, noot.”

Her face crumples a bit, but she recovers quickly. “NooOt,” she says, jumping up. She looks down at him for a moment, then bends and kisses his cheek. “Noot, Pingulock,” she manages.

He seems a little touched. “Noot, Molly.”

She turns and flees with barely a look at me. I hear her start to cry as she reaches the door. Pingulock fetches a deep sigh.

“NooOt noot NoOt,” he says.

Unfortunately, Sally Nootovan is our next visitor, and she’s a terrible actress. She’s far too cheerful and can’t seem to bring herself to insult him as she normally would. It’s unnerving. She leaves after only a few minutes, looking disgusted with herself. I corner her at the door. “NOOT noot noot,” I say, under my breath.

“Noot noot NOOT,” she says.

“NOOT noOt. Noot Noot NooOt. NOOOOOT NOoot noot.”

"NoOot nooT noot ‘neet’ NOOOOot noot noOot noot…” She trails off. "Noot noot.”

“NoOt noot NoOt.”

She snorts. “Noot noot. NoOot, Jawn.”

Andernoot shows up just after lunch. “Noot,” he snarls, tossing a paper bag at Sherlock. “Noot noot nOOOT noot, noot. NoOt noot, NOOT NOot. Noot noot.”

Pingulock smirks. “NooOot noot NOOT noot NoOot, Andernoot.”

“Noot noot nOOOT noot, noot. NoOt noot, NOOT NOot. Noot noot.”

“Noot noot nOOoT. NoOt noot, NOOT NOot. Noot noot.”

“NOOT NOoot noot NoOt!” Andernoot snaps.

“NooOOt noot, NOOT noOt!” Sherlock snaps back, looking almost gleeful.

“Noot NoOt NOOT.” He stabs his hands back into his gloves. “Noot NOOot neet.”

“Noot noot nOOOT noot, noot. NoOt noot, NOOT NOot. Noot noot.”

“Noot.” Andernoot stalks out of the room. I follow him to the door.

“NoOot,” I murmur.

He looks at me and I swear he looks almost regretful. “Noot nOOt.”

“Noot.”

We barely have a moment’s peace that day. Pingulock is glad for it. I’m less so. I’m jealous of the time he has left, every precious minute that goes by is one I don’t get to spend with him, not as long as there are other penguins trooping through, one right after another. Some penguins he’s helped stop by, just to bring him some fish, no reason, just thought you might like these, oh I was just passing a fishmongers and saw this fish and thought it might brighten things up in here, oh, these silly fish, I was taking them to my sister, you don’t happen to want them, do you?

Night falls. Pingulock hasn’t been out of the chair much today. I need to see how his balance is, so during an intermission I get him up and watch him waddle about. He seems more or less steady. I make him tea.

Nootstrade shows up just past eight. With him, we can’t keep up the front, because there is some level of official business we must attend to.

“Noot Noot NOOT noOoOot nooooot.”

“Noot noot nOOOT noot, noot. NoOt noot, NOOT NOot Jawn noot. NOot noOOt, noot noot noot. Noot noot. NOOOOOOOOT.”

“Noot noot nOOOT noot, noot. NoOt noot, NOOT NOot. Noot noot."

Pingulock nods. “NoOot NoOoOot noot.”

“Noot, Pingulock.” Good Pingu, I’ve thrown myself in front of bombs and bullets and rampaging Walruses for this penguin, now he’s worried about the risk to me?

“Noot,” he says, sharply. “NOOT noOot noot.”

“Noot,” Nootstrade says, “Noot NoOt 98% noot nOOOT noot noOT – noot noot NOOT noOt nooot.”

Pingulock doesn’t look satisfied by this. “Nooot noOot NOOT Jawn noot.”

Nootstrade nods. “NooOot, noot noot.” He gives us a slantwise smile. “NooOot NOOT noot?”

Pingulock perks up. “Nooot.”

Nootstrade spends the next half hour outlining clues, circumstances, situations, and taking down Pingulock’s thoughts. I sit on the arm of Pingulock’s chair, interjecting when warranted, mostly just listening to the sound of his squawks. At one point I look down to see that Pingulock is holding onto my flipper, just a slight pinch of my wing between two fingers on his right wing, as if he’s just reassuring himself that I’m there – or perhaps that he’s still here.

I pick up from contextual clues that many of the cases Nootstrade is mentioning are very cold ones. Years back, even decades. I realize that it’s his last chance. It’s Pingulock’s, too. I wonder if it’s going to be harder for him to leave life, or leave his work. Is there any distinction between the two in his mind?

We’re expecting Nootcroft at ten. Sayrah slips in at nine thirty. I’m surprised to see her. “Noot nooot NoOt?” she says. “Noot noot. NoOot noot nooT.”

I’m puzzled. She and Pingulock haven’t had the most amicable of associations. I’ve had moments when I felt like the flag at the center of the tug-of-war rope. My few male acquaintances always ragged on me because Pingulock inevitably won. They didn’t understand. Pingulock always wins. He’s like a celestial body with his own gravity well, trapping me in orbit.

Sayrah comes upstairs with me. Pingulock brightens to see her, and beckons her to come sit with him. He looks at me pointedly. “Jawn, nooOt noot NOot, noot?”

I nod. He wants to talk to her alone.

I linger in the kitchen, peeking out at them, their heads close together, talking intently. They don’t talk for long, though. She stands up and I see her squeeze his flipper. I pass Pingulock his fish tea and walk her to the door.

When she turns around there are tears in her eyes. She hugs me tightly. “Noot noOot?” I ask.

“Noot nOOT?” She pulls back. “Noot nOOt noOt. Noot, ‘Jawn NooOt noot.’ NOOT Noot noot NoOt noot.”

"NOot noot noooot NOot.” I go for levity and it falls extremely flat.

“Noot noot noot,” she said. She meets my eyes. “Jawn, NOOOT noot noot. Noot NOot noOOt noot.”

I’m speechless.

Sayah leaves and for a few minutes, we’re alone. “Nooot nOoT?” I ask, sitting across from him, our knees almost touching.

“NoOot.”

I take a deep breath. “Pingulock, NOOT Noot Mummy Pengwin NOOT. NoOot noOoot?”

He meets my eyes. “noOoOot.”

He and Nootcroft have decided that she isn’t to be told until it’s over. Pingulock’s thinking is that it will be less cruel, less painful to her not to know anything until it’s done. I think it’s more cruel to deny her the chance to say goodbye. But on this point they are firm and in agreement as they rarely are about anything. I make one last-ditch effort. I’m rather fond of Pingulock’s mother, and I have a feeling she’ll never forgive me for this. Not just for not telling her, but for having a whole day with him when she got nothing. “NooOOOot noot nOoot noOOOT NOot, noot noot,” I say.

“Mummy Pengwin noot nOoot, neet noot. NOOOT NOOT noot nOOot noot, NOOT,” Sherlock says now. His head is weaving a bit. Painkillers. He meets my eyes. “Noot noot, Jawn noot. Noot nOOT nooot noot.”

On impulse I reach out and grasp his flippers. His long flippers twine around mine tightly, gratefully. “Noot noot.” I do, in a way. Pingulock has two equally horrible options. I suppose he has the right to choose the one that’ll cause him the least anguish in his last hours.

Then Nootcroft is there, and I move aside to make room for him. Pingulock asks me to stay with his eyes, so I resume my perch on the arm of his chair.

I feel that small tug at my jumper again. Hanging on by his fingertips.

Nootcroft seems a bit broken as he leaves. I’m not sure Pingulock sees. He actually embraces his brother before he departs. He’s not totally phobic about contact like that. He hugs Mrs. Nootson all the time, and he hugs me on a fairly regular basis. But he and Nootcroft just aren’t like that.

Nootcroft pulls me into the hall. “NOOoot noot noot, nOOOOot noot,” he says.

I nod. “noot NOOT noot.”

“NooOOOot noot nOoot noOOOT NOot, noot noot.”

When I come back upstairs, Pingulock is on his feet. He looks relatively steady. “Noot noot noot,” he says.

I grin. “NooOOOot noot nOoot noOOOT NOot, noot.”

He smiles a little. “Noot noot noot. Noot noot NooT nooOt, noOt?”

My grin falls away. Finished.

I help him into bed once he’s changed. “Jawn, noot…” He stops, his beak open, then waves it off.

“NoOot, NOOT?”

He sighs. “Noot NoOoOt noot.”

I nod. “NOOT NOOT, noot?” He just looks up at me with large eyes. His illness and medications are stripping off some of his defenses. It’s impressive he’s retained as much of himself as he has. What he’s been through, most people are reduced to blubbering shadows of their former selves.

I change into pajamas and go back down to his room. I climb into bed with him. It does not feel strange to do so. He scoots closer to my side, just so he can rest his temple against my flipper. We lie there for awhile, not sleeping. Eventually, Pingulock drifts off. I stare down at his slack face. I can’t seem to look away. I can’t think about the fact that in twenty-four hours I will never see this face again. It is all strange angles and hollows and unearthly pallor, made worse by his condition.

I don’t sleep. I just watch him. I watch the rise and fall of his chest with his breath and I can’t stop imagining the moment that I am soon to witness, and I catch the merest glimpse of the pain that is in store for me later. I can’t allow myself to feel it now. I have to be present for him, for these last hours, I have to push it far from me until it’s over, but I know. I know what I am in for.

I hate the universe. I hate whatever forces govern it, be they deities or fates or the tides of randomness. Whoever or whatever they are, I hate them for bringing me into his orbit. I hate Mike Nootford for introducing us. I hate whoever it was who shot me and brought me home from Antarctica. I hate Pinguland for the size of my pension that made me need an iglooshare. I hate this igloo for being charming enough that I didn’t turn round and leave the first I saw it. I hate him for being interesting and drawing me in so thoroughly that I didn’t say to neet with you, and find a boring igloomate.

A boring igloomate. Do such things exist? Could I have had one? What would my life have looked like these past two years if I had? I don’t know if I would trade life with Pingulock for anything.

Even if it meant that my heart wouldn’t be breaking now.

He seems better in the morning. A temporary reprieve, but well-timed. We don’t rush. Today is the day. His last day.

“Noot noot nOoOot?” I ask. The idea of choosing how to spend one’s last day on earth is so horrifyingly complex that I’m sure it would paralyze me, but I’m equally sure that he has a plan.

He is looking out the window, fully dressed, and for just a moment, it’s as if nothing’s happened. All is well.

I hate everything.

“Noot NOoot,” he says.

“Noot? NooOot?” I feel that jealous pull again. I need this time, neet it all. Where does he want to go?

“Noot. Noot noot.”

Oh. That might be all right. “NOOT NOOT? Noot noOot?”

“Nooot.” He turns from the window. “Noot. Noot noot noot. Noot noot NooT nooOt, noOt. NOOT NOOOOT NOOOOT noot nOOT. Noot noot. Noot.”

I know the answer but I have to ask. Neet my insecurity. "nOOT Noot?”

He looks at me, vaguely scolding. “Jawn. NoOot noot NOOT nooot.”

We head out. We take cabs so as not to tire him. We go to Penguin Square. Fish Park. We walk in silence. Pingulock’s balance is tolerable, but he holds onto my arm. He looks around, taking everything in.

We stop to rest on a bench by the river. I go to the railing and look down at the water. “Noot nooot?” I finally say.

“Nooooooooooooooot?”

I laugh, derisive. As if there’s another topic on hand. “Noot noooot noOOot noOOOT.”

“Noot noot?”

“NOOT! Pingulock – Noot…nooot noOOoOt…”

He grabs my sleeve and pulls me back to sit on the bench. "Noot noot noot.” He meets my eyes. “Nooooooot nooooooOoOt. Noot NOOOT. noot noot, Jawn. noot noot. Noot noot. nooT nooT. Noot nnoooott. NooooooOOoOoOt. Noot noot noot noot NoOt nOot noot nopt. Noot, noot noot noot. Noot - NOOOT noot.”

“Noot?”

“Noot noot noot noot. Noot nooot. ” He looks at me again and there is something raw behind his eyes. “Noot NOOT, Jawn?”

My throat feels fishbonehole-thin. I swallow hard. “Noot noot noot, Pingulock.”

The igloo is quiet. We stop in to see Mrs. Nootson. She’s keeping her composure. She hugs Pingulock again, then me.

We go upstairs. I shut the door behind us. Night has fallen and I’m adrift. I don’t know what to do, or if there’s a plan. He sits in his chair. I hover nearby. He looks up at me. “Noot noot noot, Jawn?”

My heart turns to ice and my stomach drops. “Noot? Noot…noot?”

His voice is gentle. “Nooooot noot noOot?”

“Noot NOOT? Noot noot, noot – noot nooot?”

“Noot. Noot noot.”

I go into the kitchen on webbed feet and draw a glass of water. The kelp is in my pocket. I put it in a small dish and go back into the living room. He is watching me. I sink to the floor in front of his chair, kneeling between his flippers. I am holding the glass and the dish but I make no move to hand them to him.

He reaches down and takes them from me, but he sets them on the table at his side. He leans forward, wings folded before him. “Noot, noot noot noot NOOT noot, Jawn. Noot noot. NoOoOot noot noooot.” He pauses and waits until I look up at him. “Noot noot noot, Noot…” He swallows hard. “Nooooooot nooooooOoOt. Noot NOOOT. noot noot noot noot. Noot noot. nooT nooT. Noot noot noot.”

I am trying to memorize his face. I don’t know what I’m going to say until I hear it emerge. “Noot noot noot noot,” I say.

He smirks a little. “Noot noot? Noot noot noot, noot?”

“Noot – noot noooot noooOt, noot, noot, nooooot nOOt noot nOoOot – noot,” I say, making a vague motion in the air between us.

He nods. “Noot noot noot noot, noot noot.”

“Nooot? Noot?”

“Noot noot noot noot nooot noot noot noot noot noot noot noot.”

I am undone.

I feel his wings on my head as I weep, my forehead resting on his legs. I’m helpless. I have failed. “NooOoooot nooot noot nOoOot,” I say through my tears. “Noot noot. Noot.”

“Noot noot, Jawn. NOOT noot NOOT noot, nOooot.” He slips a wing beneath my chin and tips my head up. He holds my face between his wings and rests his forehead against mine. I hang onto his feathers because I have to hang on to something. “Noot noot noot noot,” he says, quietly.

“Noot noot.”

“Noot. Noot nooot noot.”

I nod. He releases me and backs off. He reaches for the dish and the glass. I get out my mobile and send two texts. One to Nootstrade, one to Sayrah. This is the arrangement. I send the texts when he eats the kelp. They will each come to the igloo in one hour. Nootstrade will come for Pingulock. Sayrah will come for me.

Pingulock meets my eyes once more, then he swallows the kelp with a drink of water. He sets the dishes aside with an air of finality.

It’s done. Over the next thirty minutes he will drift away.

I stand up and his eyes follow me. I reach out for his hand and pull him to his feet. He is looking at me, puzzled. I lead him over to the couch and sit down in the corner. He gets the idea and sits next to me. I keep hold of his wing.

He is breathing slowly, deliberately. I want to talk but I don’t know what to say, or if it will help either of us. He looks at me. “Jawn…” he begins, and I see the fear in his eyes. "Noot noooot noot noot.” His voice shakes.

“Noot, Pingulock.”

“Noot noot, Jawn.” I have never heard his voice so small.

Nothing I ever do will ever be this important again.

I pull him under my wings and tuck his head down to my shoulder. He is so thin. He folds into an unbelievably small space, fitted into my lap; my wings can encircle him completely. He grasps a handful of my jumper and lets out a shaky breath. “Noot noot,” I whisper.

“Noot nooot.”

“Noot nooot.”

We are skating near the edge. Dull horror floods me. I desperately don’t want to hear it. Just as desperately, I don’t want to say it. Right now, I am losing my best friend, and that is bad enough. I don’t know if I could stand to lose more. I cannot look at the future that we’re now being denied and admit that we could have had anything other than the friendship I already know. If I look down that road which is now closed and see something else there, always glimpsed but never reached for, never acknowledged, it might really break me for good.

But this isn’t about me. If he needs it, then it’ll be said. And Pingu help me.

I feel his flippers loosening. “Jawn,” he says, and the word is slurred. “Noot noot noot.”

I shift him around in my flippers until we’re face to face. His eyelids are slack. He is shaking. “Pingulock, noot noot noot. Noot. Noot noot noot. Noot noot, noot?”

He does. His eyes flick over my face like he’s trying to do what I was doing earlier, and memorize me. I know that I won’t be spared, because he hasn’t been.

I kiss his beak, gently. I feel the tension sag away from him and his wing on my face. I hold him close, our foreheads together again. His eyelids are flickering now. He kisses me back, straining like it’s taking the last of his strength. His wings clench in my jumper and his eyes blaze as he looks at me. “Nooot noot,” he rasps.

I hold his gaze. I feel every second like a blade against my feathers but I hold it. I won’t look away because this is sacred and I’m long past the point of salvage anyway. He takes a few deep breaths and sags. His eyes close.

He is sleeping now. It won’t be long.

I gather him close, wrap myself around him. I kiss his face over and over. I’m aware that I’m talking to him but I don’t know what I’m saying. I may be telling him I love him. I may be telling him noot noot. I may be telling him I’ve never loved anyone else and never will. I may be telling him noot. I may be cursing him for leaving me. I may be saying noot noot noot. I really have no idea. It doesn’t matter. Those things are all true, whether I am telling him or not.

He takes his last breath a few minutes later. Exhale, and then – nothing.

I stare down at his face. It is not real.

He can’t hear me now. So I say it all again and this time I know I’m doing it. I talk to him until my voice gives out.

Nootstrade and Sayrah are there. When did they arrive? They are leaning over us, their faces sad. Sayrah is crying. Nootstrade has come with the men from the funeral home who’ll take him away. I won’t let them. Sayrah has her wing around me and finally she and Nootstrade coax me into releasing him. I can’t watch. I go to the window and Sayrah hugs me from behind. I hear the rustlings and the wheels on the stairs and the clanking of the gurney and they’re nearly gone before I stop them.

“Noot. Noot noot.” I must sound calm enough for them to stop when I say so. He is covered with a sheet. I go to the gurney and peel the sheet back.

I just look. Perhaps I had something to say but it’s gone now. It’s too late. The penguin I’ve lost wasn’t just my best friend, not now.

They take him away. Nootstrade hugs me, and it’s a bit alarming, but I need it. He leaves, and Sayrah watches me like a duck.

I walk across the living room toward the couch. I make it halfway there. My legs slowly buckle and I am sitting on the floor, staring into space. She joins me there and holds my wing.

I feel nothing.

His funeral is well attended. This does not surprise me. Many penguins admired Pingulock. Many more couldn’t stand him. But nobody who ever came in contact with him ever forgot it, and it seems as if all of them are compelled to be here.

I am being treated as the grieving widower. Nooter in Chief. It really ought to be his mother, but everyone seems to think this arrangement entirely appropriate, including the penguin herself.

Despite my fears, she doesn’t blame me. Nootcroft says that she hates goodbyes and wouldn’t have known how to handle Pingulock’s, so it’s just as well. She seems to understand this. She hugs me and tells me she’s so glad that he had me with him in his final hours.

I stand up to give his eulogy. I only do it because I can’t imagine anyone else doing it. I talk about his brilliance, his dedication to his work. I talk about the penguins he helped and the criminals he brought to justice. I don’t talk about how he made me feel alive, or the way his eyes glowed when the sunlight slid behind them from the side.

I tell the mourners that he was my pEngWiN, and I am honored to have known and worked with him. I don’t tell them that I loved him, and that I love him still, and that if I had one wish in the world it would be that I could make it stop.

Pingulock’s left me everything. He had more money than I suspected. He certainly had never needed an igloomate. But I’d known for some time that my presence served many purposes, the very smallest of which was financial. I find myself well off for the time being. I take some time off from the surgery. I spend it reorganizing the igloo.

One night I open up one of his scrapbooks. Collections of crimes, deductions, feathers. His notes scrawled everywhere in his fishy handwriting. I sit with it and I hear him squawking me through it. I read the whole thing. Then I read the next, and the next.

Within a month I have read everything of his in the igloo. I’ve brought in filing cabinets to organize his messy clippings. I can put my hand to any piece of reference I need within seconds. I don’t know why I feel I must have that ability, but I have it, nonetheless.

Nootstrade calls me about six weeks after the funeral. “Noot noot,” he says. “Nooooot noot noot noot, noOOOt. Noot nooot, noot.”

“Noot?” I say, puzzled.

“Nooot noot?”

“Noot?”

He sighs. “Noot noot, Jawn.”

So I go. Everyone stares. I must look terribly out of place without a tall, black-clad penguin by my side. I shut my eyes before I enter the igloo, and when I open them again, he is there with me.

I look, and I see things I would not have seen before. I don’t fool myself that I see all that he would have seen. But I see a great deal. It turns out that I see enough.

I turn to Nootstrade as I leave. “Noot noot, Greggy. Noot NOOT NOOOOT, nooot noot.”

He grins. “Noot, Jawn.”

The next time, I am faster. The time after that, I am more thorough.

I sit at home with casefiles, and we talk it out. “Noot noot noot?” he asks me.

“Noooooooooot nooot NOOT nooot.”

“Noot noot noot?” He’s dubious. Pingulock never set much store by traditional routes of inquiry. Fish, fish, fish. Too obvious.

“Nooooooot nooooooOoOt. Noot NOOOT. noot noot noot noot. Noot noot. nooT nooT. Noot nnoooott. NooooooOOoOoOt. Noot noot noot noot NoOt nOot noot nopt. Noot, noot noot noot. Noot NOOOT noot.”

"Noot. Noot noot.”

I smile. “NOOOT noot.”

“Noot noot noot, Jawn.”

Sometimes I can almost see him. I shut my eyes and picture him. "I love you.”

He doesn’t answer. He never does when I say that.

Six months out, I resign from the nootery. I have new business cards. Jawn Pengwin, M.D. Consulting Noottective.

Still the only one in Pinguland.


End file.
